


Fancy Dress

by freyjawriter24



Series: Writing prompts and challenges [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Early Days, Established Relationship, F/F, Fancy Dress Party, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley attend a fancy dress party at Adam's house. Crowley tries to figure out who Aziraphale is going as, because there's no way she's telling her.***Written for the Good Omens Events server's Junior Prom 2020, for my wonderful prom date miss-minnelli.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Writing prompts and challenges [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805341
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50
Collections: Promptposal





	Fancy Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_minnelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_minnelli/gifts).



“Angel,” Crowley said, arching a sceptical eyebrow over her sunglasses. “Do you know what a fancy dress party actually is?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale primly, smoothing her hands down her front. “And I have decided to wear a ‘fancy dress’ to it.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “You’re meant to dress up as a _character_ or something, angel. Not just wear an outfit you haven’t for ages.”

“I don’t see why I can’t do both, dear.”

The demon paused for a moment at that, watching as the angel twisted to get a better look at herself in the mirror. Aziraphale fussed a little with the sleeves and waist of the dress, then deemed it suitable and turned to look at Crowley.

“Right, I should think we’re both about ready, yes?”

Crowley nodded slowly, still evaluating Aziraphale’s outfit. She’d _seen_ her wear that exact dress before, back when it was considered usual attire, which meant it wasn’t originally _intended_ to look like anyone in particular. But now that she was wearing it to a fancy dress party – and knew what that meant – she must have a character in mind.

“Come along then, my dear. It wouldn’t do to be late.”

There was a slight glint in Aziraphale’s eye as she smiled, and Crowley’s heart stuttered as she recognised the look. That was a thrown gauntlet, if ever there was one.  
The angel wasn’t going to tell her. She’d have to figure it out for herself.

* * *

“Crowley!” Aziraphale couldn’t help but gasp as they stepped outside. “Your car!”

The Bentley, it appeared, had undergone something of a paint job. Its main body and roof was now a deep pinkish-red colour, perhaps closest to burgundy or maroon. The back windows had been painted out too, an elegant swirl stretching across the opaque glass.

“Thought she wouldn’t want to be left out,” the demon said, reaching out to pat the hood. “It’s only a costume, though, don’t worry. Wouldn’t ever _actually_ repaint her.”

Aziraphale nodded, still a little thrown. Then she took a step back, and frowned at the scene for a second before brightening.

“Ah! The Bentley is your car!”

“Well observed, angel,” Crowley drawled, an amused expression on her face.

“No, I mean...”

Aziraphale glanced up at the demon, struggling for once to find the words to articulate her point, and saw Crowley smirking. Of _course_ the demon knew _exactly_ what she meant, and Aziraphale swiped half-heartedly at her in admonishment.

“I mean it’s your _character’s_ car. You’ve dressed the Bentley up to look like your _character’s_ car.”

“Yep!” The demon looked pleased with herself. She stroked a hand down her fur coat, then turned and dramatically swung the car door open. “Come along, _darling_! Places to go, people to see!”

Heat bloomed in Aziraphale’s cheeks. The endearment was part of the character, she knew that. But all the same...

She tried to ignore her racing pulse, and climbed into the car.

* * *

The journey to Adam’s house in Tadfield didn’t take long. Well, it took about an hour, but considering that by all reasonable estimates – those that obeyed legal speed limits, for instance – it should have taken at least an hour and a half, not accounting for traffic, it wasn’t long at all.

The Them were outside in the front garden when they got there, Adam holding Dog up as if he were Simba in _The Lion King_. The likeness was confirmed when Brian opened his mouth and started hollering “NAAAAAANTS INGONYAMAAAAAA” loud enough to be heard from the next county, let alone from inside the Bentley.

Crowley pulled the car up in as dramatic fashion as possible, and flounced out of it with all the villainous drama she could muster. “Hello there, _darlings_! Why, that’s a beautiful specimen –” she gestured to Dog – “Wouldn’t he make a lovely handbag?”

The children laughed, and Adam carefully put Dog back on the ground to let him run up and say hello. Crowley didn’t break character, sneering down at the animal as if it was nothing but the substance that came out of its rear end, and then she abruptly turned and hurried to the passenger door of the Bentley.

Aziraphale had opened it already, but hadn’t gotten out yet. She was sat with her legs sideways on the seat, prepared to stand but not ready to go, fussing with her dress.

Crowley bowed deeply and offered a hand. “My lady.”

The angel looked up at her, half embarrassed and half grateful. After a second Aziraphale reached out in return and allowed the demon to pull her to standing.

“Thank you, my dear.”

Aziraphale looked down again, the hand that wasn’t still conspicuously clasped in Crowley’s fluttering at her waist. The demon hesitated for a second, then gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“You look wonderful, angel,” Crowley murmured.

“Oh.” The embarrassment vanished, replaced by a simple radiant happiness. “Oh, _thank_ you.”

Something deep in Crowley’s chest clenched at the open pleasure of that look, as it had so many times over the millennia. She barely restrained herself from saying something ridiculous and far too true, concealing the almost-confession with a garbled string of consonants.

Aziraphale seemed to have taken strength from the interaction, though. The angel stood straighter, brushed down her skirts one more time, then moved towards the house to greet the children.

Then demon watched as she went, completely unable to do anything for a moment as she followed Aziraphale awkwardly saying hello to Dog and complementing each of the Them in turn on their costumes.

 _When did she get so beautiful?_ Crowley thought abstractedly, enjoying the way the last rays of the evening sun refracted through the angel’s hair. It reminded her of a million sunsets they’d shared together, from Johannesburg to Moscow, California to Sydney. Right back to that first one, in the aftermath of the storm. _Oh, yeah, that’s it. Eden._

* * *

Inside, the Youngs had arranged a small feast of buffet food on the dining room table, but most of it was still covered in cling film and tin foil, not to be touched until all the guests had arrived. Brian had a suspicious-looking smear across the mouth of his face-paint, but otherwise there was no evidence this rule had been broken yet. Aziraphale eyed the table hungrily, then turned away and focused on greeting the rest of the party’s guests.

Newt was stood awkwardly in one corner, wearing a large hat and ridiculously long scarf, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. “Nice costume,” he said, clearly with no idea who Aziraphale was meant to be.

“Oh, thank you. It was collecting dust in one of my wardrobes, I thought today would be the perfect opportunity to wear it again.” She absent-mindedly fiddled with a bit of lace at her sleeve. “Yours is, ah, distinctive.”

Newt brightened. “Thanks! I made the scarf myself!”

Privately, Aziraphale thought that that much was obvious. It was far too long and unwieldy to be practical, although it was well-knitted. “Really? Well, it’s very impressive.”

“Thank you!”

* * *

Crowley was over by the Youngs, thanking them for the invite.

“Oh no, not at all!” Deirdre said. She was wearing a flowery green dress and a vibrant red wig, in what the demon assumed was supposed to be a loose approximation of a Poison Ivy costume. “After what you did for the children, helping them like that...”

She trailed off and her eyes glazed over for a second. Her husband didn’t seem to notice, affecting the same vacant expression. Crowley looked sharply at Adam, but he was almost pointedly looking away, playing with Dog. Pepper wasn’t, though – she was looking directly at Crowley with narrowed eyes. _Don’t you dare,_ that look said. _He’s trying his best._

After a second, both of Adam’s parents shook their heads, seeming to snap out of the momentary trance. Deirdre continued as if nothing had happened. “Anyway, I have to say, I love your costume!”

“Oh, yes!” Arthur put in. “Very dramatic. We love that film, don’t we, Deirdre?”

“Adam used to watch it all the time when he was younger. He always wanted a dog.”

“Yes, yes. And now he has one! Still not sure how that happened, but he’s happy, and Dog is definitely well-looked after, so...” Arthur looked over at Adam, and seemed rather proud.

Crowley nodded, glad she wasn’t being cornered into commenting on Mr Young’s very low-effort pirate costume. “You should be very proud of Adam,” she said quietly.

“Oh, we are,” Deirdre said fondly, her mind again skipping over anything that might make her want to ask why.

Crowley made to move off, then hesitated.

“By the way,” she said, affecting the upmost casualness. “What do you think of Aziraphale’s dress?”

The Youngs turned to look at the angel’s sweeping gown, all pale tartan and lace, and twisted their faces into some semblance of enthusiasm.

“Oh, yes, it’s very fancy,” Deirdre said. “She must have put in a lot of effort on it.”

“Who do you think she’s dressed as?” Crowley pressed further.

“Ah, yes,” Arthur said. “I was trying to remember her name. That one from _Downton Abbey_ , Deirdre, what’s her name?”

“Which one? Maggie Smith?”

“Yes, yes! Who’s she?”

“The _Dowager Countess_. I can never remember her actual name, she’s just Maggie Smith to me.” Mrs Young giggled.

Crowley raised her eyebrows and nodded, then quietly excused herself from the conversation. That definitely wasn’t right – she hadn’t watched _all_ of _Downton Abbey_ , but the demon was pretty sure no one as brilliant as Dame Maggie would let herself be dressed in all-tartan. Hmm. Back to the drawing board, then. Who was Aziraphale dressed as?

* * *

Anathema was also sipping at a cup of tea, smiling as she watched the Them play with Dog.

“Such a wonderful evening,” Aziraphale said by way of introduction.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Anathema said, smiling. She looked up and took in the angel’s dress for the first time. “Ooh, I love your outfit, by the way. Very Elizabeth Bennet. Did you make it yourself?”

 _Elizabeth Bennet?_ That was a good one, she’d have to remember that.

Aziraphale smiled broadly. “ _Thank you_ , dear, I do love it. But no, I had it made for me, back in... oh, it must have been the eighteenth century?”

There was a flicker of realisation that skimmed over Anathema’s face, almost as if she’d only just remembered that this was a six-thousand-year-old ethereal being she was talking to. “Right, yes. Very authentic, then. I like it!”

The pair of them chatted for a while longer, and then when Deirdre opened up the buffet table, Aziraphale headed off. She noticed, though, that a certain demon nipped over to Anathema as soon as she left, presumably quizzing her on what the witch had said about Aziraphale’s outfit.

The angel smiled to herself. Anathema’s guess was her favourite so far, but it was still wasn’t right. Crowley would have to work this one out herself.

* * *

The witch’s answer had made sense, but at the same time, didn’t fit – right sort of era, but again Crowley had a very strong suspicion that none of Jane Austen’s leads would be seen dead in full tartan. No, she’d have to keep guessing.

The Them were her next port of call. The food had been uncovered now, so Brian’s Jack Skellington face-paint was truly a lost cause, but the others’ costumes were still mostly intact. Wensleydale seemed to have centred his entire character choice around the fact that he had glasses.

“Nice outfit, Velma,” Crowley said, flopping down on the sofa beside the children.

“Thank you,” Wensleydale said. “I had to go into Oxford to buy the wig, but _actually_ my mum already had the rest of the clothes.”

“I like yours, Crowley,” Adam said. “You make a good Cruella de Vil.”

“I do, don’t I?” She smiled, snake-like for a moment, and the Antichrist grinned back. “Your outfit’s not half bad yourself. _Very_ well-made, in fact.” The demon frowned. “Almost suspiciously so.”

Adam didn’t even have the good grace to blush. “I was just lucky. They only had one centurion costume left at the shop, and it was this one.” He knocked a hand against the very real-looking front of his armour. “Only a fiver, too.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and nodded appreciatively. Then she turned to business.

“Right then, who of the adults do you reckon has the best costume?”

“What, other than you?” Brian asked.

Crowley was almost offended.

“Well you are _actually_ an adult,” Wensleydale pointed out. “In fact, you’re the oldest one here, with Aziraphale.”

Pepper ignored this part of the conversation. “Anathema’s is my favourite,” she said. “She’s done a good job with the costume. _And_ she didn’t go for the obvious thing, which would be to dress up as a witch.”

“You should get a picture with her,” Crowley said. “Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel would definitely work together if they were in the same universe.”

“True,” Pepper agreed seriously. “Yeah, I’ll ask for a selfie later.”

Aww, it had been a few years now but Crowley still always had that nice feeling of a job well-done when someone used a word she’d made up.

“We should do a proper photo-shoot,” Adam said. “Do all the poses and stuff.”

“Yeah! 

“What about Aziraphale’s outfit?” Crowley said, casually stroking the heavy fur jacket she was still wearing. “What do you think of that?”

“It’s good,” Adam said with a shrug.

“I bet it’s a real one,” Pepper said. “She lived through that time, right? So I bet she still had it from years ago. It’s probably ancient.”

“Actually,” Wensleydale began, “If it was hundreds of years old, it would be really delicate, and it would have to be kept in a museum.”

“Nah, they’re magic, aren’t they?” Brian said, gesturing vaguely to the demon.

The other kids nodded, accepting the wise comment of the messy skeleton with complete seriousness.

“Who do you think she’s dressed as, though?” Crowley insisted, abandoning casualness to get to the heart of her query.

“Oh, Jane Eyre,” Adam said, as if it was obvious.

“What?”

“Yeah, duh,” Pepper said. “She was talking about that stupid book for _ages_ the last time we saw you. My mum doesn’t like it, she says it romanticises a number of problematic issues and has a far too idealistic ending which plays into the heteropatriarchy and amatonormativity.”

“Uh, yeah, you could say that.” Crowley wasn’t about to admit she’d ever read the book – she didn’t _read_ , after all – but that was a conversation she’d love to rile the angel up with later. “But are you sure? Jane Eyre?”

All four of them nodded. Even Dog was looking at the demon as if she really should have realised that ages ago.

“Right. Um, thanks.”

Well, Jane _was_ the sort to make poor choices. Or be made to wear something less-than-fashionable and just accept it. And at various points she’d lived the whole range of access to wealth, so...

Hmm. Maybe it was time to talk to Aziraphale directly.

* * *

Aziraphale was still pretending not to watch Crowley chatting to the children when Mrs Young appeared with a camera and encouraged everyone to cram themselves into the living room for a group photo. The angel reluctantly set down her plate of snacks and swept over to join everyone else for a tedious few minutes waiting for Deirdre and Arthur to figure out how to work the timer on their old digital camera.

She was just in the process of readjusting her skirts and sleeves for the photograph when a familiar voice whispered in her left ear.

“So, how are you enjoying the party? Figured out who everyone’s dressed as yet?”

“I am, thank you, Crowley,” she said back, keeping her words quiet enough to be hidden by the general noise of the people around them talking. “I’ll be honest, I am not quite as up to date on modern popular culture as you are, but I think I have a few of them down.”

She flashed an innocent smile in the demon’s direction, and echoed the question back at her. “What about you? Know who _everyone_ ’s dressed as yet?”

“I think I’m just about there,” Crowley purred.

“Right, there we go!” Deirdre called. “Everyone look at the camera, please!”

The humans, angel, demon, Antichrist, and hellhound all turned silently to stare at the little black lens in front of them. There was an uncomfortably long pause.

“Is it work–” Arthur asked, just as the flash went off.

The whole group groaned in unison.

“Sorry, sorry!” Mr Young said, and hurried over to the camera again. “Once more everybody, sorry!”

“Go on, then,” the angel prodded. “Who am I dressed as?”

“Well,” the demon began. “I asked around to see what everyone else thought first. Made sure I had all the angles on the question, you know.”

“Always important to have multiple perspectives,” Aziraphale agreed, struggling to hide a fond smile.

“Exactly. And I could dismiss a few straight away, of course, but the children in particular gave me something interesting to think about.”

The Youngs got the camera working again. “There we go, smile everybody!”

Another long pause, then a flash and a barely-concealed collective sigh of relief.

“Yes, and?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked at her and grinned slyly. “Well, let me take you through my thought process.”

The angel rolled her eyes and went off to find her plate, the demon following in her wake.

“You see, at first I thought you must be an old favourite. Jane Austen is the right era, and the witch even suggested Miss Bennet.”

Aziraphale picked up a sausage roll from her plate, and looked sceptically at Crowley. “Miss Bennet? Which one?”

Crowley ignored the quip. “But no matter how stylish _you_ seem to think tartan is, we both know Lizzie wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”

The angel raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“And then the Them suggested your old friend Jane Eyre, which is entirely the wrong era, but they were completely certain.”

Aziraphale took another bite of sausage roll rather than responding.

“So my tactics changed,” the demon continued.

Crowley began to circle the angel, examining the outfit closely. “I remember you wearing this, in Ireland, at that little gathering Rachael arranged. I had a think of who was there, to see if that might help. The singers, what they had performed in, whether any of _those_ characters might be right.”

Aziraphale nodded, selecting a finger sandwich from her plate and trying not to enjoy _too_ much Crowley being so open about looking at her. She could feel the demon’s eyes raking over every inch of her corporation, ostensibly looking for clues, and had to restrain herself from shivering.

“I went through the whole lot,” Crowley continued, shrugging off her thick fur coat and slinging it across the back of one of the dining chairs. “Looking for someone who you might be dressed as, or who might have been based on you.”

The demon turned and flashed a grin at Aziraphale, and for a moment, the angel’s mental faculties ceased entirely.

Crowley was _gorgeous_. Not that she hadn’t realised that before, but sometimes there were moments where Aziraphale was struck by it anew, and it always knocked her entirely sideways.

What the angel had never fully appreciated before was that Cruella de Vil, aside from wearing massive fur coats, having bicolour hair, and sporting long red gloves, was a very fashionable woman. Particularly so in the dresses she wore _underneath_ her massive fur coats.

Crowley was wearing a long, figure-hugging black dress with a deep V-neck. She stood in the Youngs’ dining room, one gloved hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised, whole corporation shining in the modest lighting of this little country home. And she looked _fabulous_.

It wasn’t a matter so much of the dress itself, but the way Crowley wore it. The ease with which she commanded attention, the casual way in which she gestured with that silly little plastic cigarette holder, the tiny little signals of body language that only Aziraphale knew her well enough to recognise, which were all saying something along the lines of _please tell me this is right, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of you_ , and the implications of that in itself was enough to make Aziraphale swoon.

And then there was the realisation that this was it for them now. This was all that mattered – them spending time together among the humans, doing whatever they liked, without any oversight from either Heaven or Hell anymore. They could do anything, anything at all. And they were spending that time _together_.

“And _then_ I realised that perhaps that was rather the point,” Crowley finished.

“Mmm?” The angel wasn’t entirely sure she’d fully been listening to what the demon had been saying. She grabbed a cupcake from her plate and focused on the yellow eyes now flashing at her from above the demon’s sunglasses.

“Your dress. It’s just... your dress.”

“Is it?”

“Yep.” Crowley popped the ‘p’, and then twisted her mouth into a half-amused, half-annoyed smile. “You, _darling_ , are a bastard. I didn’t realise, but you never actually said you _were_ dressed as anyone in particular, just that you _could be_. So you’re not. You just wanted to wear a pretty dress.”

The demon looked pleased with herself for a second, but then looked less sure as Aziraphale just stared at her. “Angel? Am I right?”

Aziraphale swallowed, trying not to look as starstruck as she felt. She carefully placed the now almost empty plate on the corner of the table, and stepped nearer to the demon.

Crowley stilled. “Angel?” she murmured, a nervous quiver to her voice.

“Yes, my dear. You are wholly, completely, and utterly right in every way.”

Her cheeks flushed nearly as red as her natural hair. “About the dress?” Crowley squeaked.

“Yes, dearest. About the dress. And everything else. I’m sorry I take so long to see it sometimes.”

A garbled string of consonants sounded in Crowley’s throat, eventually turning into “don’t worry about it, angel.”

“Do you know what I do worry about?” Aziraphale asked, taking another step closer. The skirts of her dress rustled against Crowley’s long slender legs.

“Hnn – No?”

“That I don’t kiss you often enough.”

The demon’s eyes went wide in the fraction of a second between her registering the words and Aziraphale leaning in to touch their lips together. Crowley melted into the touch, and the angel revelled in the sensation.

_This is real. We’re allowed to do this. I can just do this whenever I want. Why on Earth don’t we do it more often?_

They drew apart, and Crowley gasped, resting her forehead gently against Aziraphale’s.

“Need... more warning if you’re going to do that, angel.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asked innocently, batting her eyes. “But I do so like it when you nearly faint.”

“ _Bastard_.”

The angel beamed, and kissed her again.


End file.
